.jpg)
Ponderings on
Cameron Bruhn & Katelin Butler, The New Queensland House, Thames & Hudson, Australia, Port Melbourne, 2022.
.jpg)
Maybe the book should be titled The New Queensland University Houses given its concentration on projects by University of Queensland staff and graduates, complete with a segmented essay by Andresen and Keniger on their teaching philosophies and experiences over the years^ that suggests their academic strategies were the origins of this published work; the stimulus for ideas that generated these approaches to dwelling. This may be so, but the projects have very little in common with the ‘Queenslander’ that was so successful in all of its manifestations in its own uniquely simple, nonchalant manner; ‘universal,’ as a true vernacular, an association that the title seems to hint at, suggesting that this set of houses might be, or could become, the new ‘Queenslanders.’ This vague connection left as a latent allusion, could easily have been avoided had the title simply been New Queensland Houses, which they are, but the relationship appears to be deliberate, defining these selected projects as ‘the new’ version of this icon; its progeny; the heirs to this lineage and its impressive reputation.
The text seems to support this idea with its reference to, and illustration of the James Campbell Redicut ‘Queenslander;’ but these published projects are not ‘universal’ or ‘ordinary’ houses; rather they are more like bespoke designs for living; something like intellectual essays; maybe challenging, or brave, ‘creative’ experiments exploring various potentials: perhaps ‘manifesto’ houses – see: https://www.bdonline.co.uk/briefing/the-manifesto-house-buildings-that-changed-the-future-of-architecture/5136192.article – buildings that changed the future of architecture. Twenty-nine projects from across the state of Queensland have been chosen to represent this idea of things ‘Queensland,’ starting with the celebrated project that has been identified as the prime reference and inspiration, followed by the 28 subsequent projects that all apparently owe something to this beginning. It is not known if this is the authors' idea or interpretation, or whether all the architects involved in these projects have acknowledged this original inspiration for their concepts. The remainder of the suburban, town, city, and rural precincts across the expanse of this state are ignored in this eagerness to promote a particular vision; but it is in this broader context that one finds the real ‘new Queensland house,’ the building that truly replaces the old ‘Queenslander,’ in spite of these published promoted projects all being carefully considered, intellectually astute, and well designed and detailed examples of the possibilities for new housing in this northeastern portion of Australia that spans a variety of climatic and urban/suburban conditions. There is no doubt: these projects are exemplary, each in its own way, and deserve to be reviewed, but they are not the real ‘Queenslanders,’ even if they might like to be. The true new ‘Queenslander’ is everywhere; in plain sight across the state: the ubiquitous project house.
.jpg)
It is interesting that the authors choose two foreigners, (a term not used pejoratively; merely by definition: people coming from another country - a self-declared Londoner and a Norwegian), to comment on the Queensland experience, who in turn write about bringing other foreigners in to improve the University of Queensland teaching/learning experience, seemingly reinforcing the great Aussie cringe that is rooted in the wincing idea that others from abroad, complete with their assumed mystique, are always better than any local. The classic cliché Australian question of the foreigner is: “What do you think of Australia/Brisbane/us?”, as if one needed the foreigner’s recognition and approval ‘to be real’, as in Fritz Schumaker’s story in Good Work where the waiter takes the child’s preference as the order, ignoring the correction provided by the parent, with the child exclaiming: “He thinks I’m real!” This sought-after acknowledgement is like a blessing sanctioning our perceptions, our place, our work, our country; something seemingly required by 'locals' in order for them to be able to have some confidence in, and some certainty about their visions and environment; perhaps to help overcome the sense of being inferior, lesser beings of ‘felon’ stock – folk who are crudely ignorant and narrow-minded, ‘red necks,’ lacking the experience of ‘beyond’ whatever this might be: but whatever it is, it is always ‘better.’
We are still seeing this cowering situation today in projects where clients ask for, prefer, or like to see the name of a foreign firm working in association with a local practice, apparently to gain ‘prestige,’ and ‘to be real’; or sometimes the client only wants foreign firms doing the whole project. So it is that we have, e.g., Rayner Blight/Sonhetta appointed for the refurbishment of the Queensland Performing Arts project; SANAA for the New South Wales Art Gallery extension: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2025/02/robin-gibson-postscript.html and https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2023/02/thoughts-on-sydney-modern.html; and Crab Studio (Peter Cook and Gavin Robotham) on the Bond Abedian School of Architecture: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2012/06/pete-dud-on-cringe.html?m=0, as if a local might not be capable or desirable, lacking the aura of ‘otherness.’ Of course, the more unusual the name might sound or look, the better; like the accents of the incomers.+++ Even the acclaimed C House requires the approval of an outsider: p.22 – the renowned Sri Lankan architect Geoffrey Bawa was thoroughly impressed on a visit during construction in 1966. Mmm; it must be good.
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
Do Australians have a desire to always be elsewhere, 'anywhere, somewhere else,' which is always good; better; best? The text relating to the Cantala House, (see Street View for an image of the existing residence before the change, a photograph that the book does not provide), records p.71 when you are in the pool and look up to the sky, framed by the garden wall, you have a sense you could be anywhere; and the description of the experience of La Scala, p.97, similarly notes that You can float on your back in the pool and feel like you're somewhere else; maybe in Milan? Is the urge not to be local? Is this the cringe with its latent embarrassment about being here?
.jpg)
Why might the authors of this book not have asked someone who has lived in the Queensland house for many years, who has had grandparents, friends, and neighbours living in varieties of the classic form, all visited for a lifetime, to comment on the experience of these unique houses, both as a suburban habitation and a home? There must be many such folk. Is the worry that this person might just be a ‘local;’** or are they afraid of being told how hot these uninsulated, picturesque places can be in summer; that the retreat space on hot days is under the house, (10C cooler here: how one family actually moved out to live under the house); and learning how draughty and cold these homes can be in winter; how the homes are dark, with the ad hoc planning frequently having rooms borrowing light from other spaces, with the progressive, naïve, piecemeal infill development creating internal rooms; and learning how little sound privacy there is in these lightweight buildings, having something like the acoustic performance of the traditional Japanese house: or are local opinions not as valid, or as well considered as those of folk from abroad?
✤ ✤ ✤
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
At least the Clare granny flat is described in this text on academic experiences, correctly as a ‘Palm Beach’ project. Unfortunately, and somewhat confusingly, the related illustration describes this granny flat, as does the illustrated article on this project, wrongly but boldly, as being at ‘Burleigh Heads.’ What were the editors doing? They must have been puzzled, for it seems that the architects prefer to have their flat seen in this way, rather than as a Palm Beach home. Does Burleigh Heads hold more prestige? For more on this matter, see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/04/wheres-granny-flat.html. The Clare’s seem to have little to do with Burleigh Heads; their ‘flat’ is on 14th Avenue, Palm Beach, Gold Coast, and their postal address is a post box at Elanora, south of Palm Beach. Burleigh Heads, known as ‘the new Noosa,’ (might this be the attraction, given these architects’ ties to the north coast?), lies north of Palm Beach, north of Tallebudgera. Why do they persist with this puzzling fantasy? How have other projects been described? - (see addresses below).^^
.jpg)
The book identifies outdoor living as the new Queensland experience, citing Expo 88 as the turning point, promoting outdoor spaces and rooms as offering places unique to Queensland, with the iconic reference and inspiration for this trend seemingly being the remarkable C House by Donovan Hill, as well as the quality teaching at the University of Queensland. Is the climate and outdoor living something that attracts the foreigner’s attention? Here one recalls how the unusual period of brilliant sunshine in the UK in 1948 seems to have stirred John Dalton to come to this state with his slogan of ‘sunlight, shade and shadow’: see https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2024/05/john-dalton-shades-of-style.html. Having established this theory of external habitation as a unique characteristic of Queensland living, the authors appear to have chosen the theme for the selection of new houses for the book, and then set out to prove the point.
✤ ✤ ✤
There are times in Queensland when the outdoors can be enjoyed, just as everywhere, even in the Shetland Islands, e.g. The Peerie Shop Cafe in Lerwick that has tables outside, like the Busta House Hotel near Brae, with its garden eating space: it as been said that there is no place in the world more splendid than Shetland on a clear, sunny day. Then there are those times, even in Queensland, when such ‘al fresco’ experiences are frustrated with flies, ants, midges, mosquitoes, and the like, with nocturnal nuisances also causing havoc, like the loved and protected possum, and the general species of ‘vermin’ that like the dark. There are daily nuisances other than insects too, like scrub turkeys that scratch persistently, and dig disastrously; minor birds, magpies, and bold butcherbirds that like to dive-bomb and harass humans; and rainbow lorikeets and noisy miner birds too, that are keen to raid the sugar on the table and the sundry leftovers, with the nuisance becoming threatening seagulls near the coast; there is all this as well as the occasional quiet, patient carpet snake that dislikes attention but causes emotional havoc with residents, and mayhem with the birds. The outdoors is not always an idyllic place, especially with these potential aggravations in the glaring, burning sun; on hot, humid, stormy days; or during chilly, uncomfortable windy, and cold periods, like today (2 July 2025).=
.jpg)
What makes more sense is flexibility; the ability to open up and to close off indoor/outdoor space to suit the occasion, as appropriate to desires; to allow this space to be always be available without disappointment and discomfort, even in cyclonic weather. The ‘statement’ Donovan Hill/Peddle Thorp outdoor living room in the Queensland State Library, complete with its bizarrely quaint Victorian china display, makes a single, cheeky commitment to openness - as if they might dare - that remains at the mercy of wind and rain, standing ready to be ravaged without any available protection, like a brazen hussy. The bold deliberateness of the gesture adds to the surprise that one apparently is encouraged to equate with genius, cleverness, instead of foolishness, or perhaps something in between. Has too much money been spent achieving this startling folly to allow it to be criticised, like the $344 million SAANA art gallery extension that is hyped as ‘the new opera house,’ as if this project that strangely is best illustrated only by the ‘drone shot,’ might hold the same landmark status as the World Heritage icon? – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2023/02/thoughts-on-sydney-modern.html.
Flexibility makes both inside and outside choices possible, benefiting both options. The case has been put for balconies and verandahs to be adaptable in this manner, that these spaces benefit with multi-function when they can be enclosed and opened to create an indoor or outdoor place as comfort, function, and needs require: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/05/why-have-balconies.html. This principle seems to hold more rigour than the praise of singular-purpose, open voids; and has a history linked to the ‘Queenslander.’+ Does the idea of the backyard barbecue or the game of French cricket, even without the pool, linger on in this ambition to have an outside room; or is it the preference of incomers who are used to enforced enclosure most of the time in their home countries, longing for the experience of ‘sunlight, shade and shadow’? After encouraging friends to enclose their windy verandah space at ground level with louvres and sliding doors, they liked the place so much that they moved their living area into this flexible space permanently, providing them with choices that were not available previously. Indeed, the situation prior to this was one of constant frustration when the potentially pleasant outdoor space was trying to be used. Like the situation in the child’s tale, it was either too windy; too wet; too cold; too glary; too hot; rarely just right; and remained as an awkward, uncomfortable circumstance of constant complaint and dissatisfaction in spite of the roller blinds.
The old family home in Laidley, a typical, square Campbell’s pre-cut home, has the whole verandah enclosed, with wooden shutters creating bed rooms, an eating area, and work areas, with more permanent enclosures forming a kitchen, and a bathroom, in the same way as the infill arrangement illustrated in the James Campbell ‘The Clifton’ house uses the verandah space. The four core rooms, two bedrooms and an arched formal living/dining space, become dark, mysterious interiors, forming a thoroughfare that is lived around. One can see how ‘The Blackall’ in the Campbell’s catalogue is the prototype, with the verandah being the pure void surround, the outside space, ready for this progressive enclosure to suit varying family needs, first becoming partiallly built in like the ‘The Clifton,’ and then, with more enclosures, the fully encircled family home, with the ‘open space’ made useful.
One of the great qualities of the traditional Queensland house is its ambiguity, which equates to the flexibility referred to with the verandah open/closed space. A vacant ‘Queenslander’ becomes a blank canvas for new occupants, with spaces and places there to be named and used as might be envisaged. Then there is always the space below that can be used, built in or not, for more accommodation, that seems to be a matter of concern for the authors: p 9, In the 1980's, the 'raise and build under' extension became the preferred approach to renovating in Brisbane. . . . This has led to a variety of unfortunate consequences. This flexibility is a quality that new, designed, highly serviced homes lack. It is a traditional quality noted by Nasr who records that Islamic architecture possesses a plasticity of usage derived from the multiple functions which most spaces serve; (p.243 Traditional Islam in the Modern World, Kegan Paul International, London, 1987); one which remains little referenced when speaking about the romance of these local traditional buildings, their poetics, for they do hold a seductive entrancement in their decorated, straightforward simplicity and clarity with features that come to be described as timber and tin; light-weight building; battens and lattice screens; eaves and sunhoods; and the like, words that are grabbed by planners to try to establish/enforce some vernacular context that usually misses the point completely with an astonishing bland crudeness, even though the expressions might adequately describe the effort: such is planning. The clarity of the Queensland house plan eventually, over time, becomes something of a maze of spaces to wander through as various new connections open up different choices for movement with the repeated infills and adaptations.* By suggesting that these published homes are now the ‘new Queenslanders,’ or might like to be, the proposition appears to want to hold on to all of the desirable references to the traditional home, while ignoring those that do not fit the theme of open space or modern convenience. This lack of clarity causes some disquiet, for there is a stark difference in qualities other than open space, even when accepting that the open space of the traditional verandah is often enclosed – that fairly obvious contrast to the new.
One can read into these spatial divisions of the older house whatever arrangement one might fancy, and more, with the possibility of various sundry infills and enclosures over time. The original Queensland house had minimal services; it was not insulated; it had the tin can dunny in the backyard, with the night soil carted off by the dunny man; the shower/wash room underneath the house, sometimes more conveniently under the tank stand, usually finished out in what we now know as mini orb; with only one water pipe and one 50mm drain pipe servicing the upper interior spaces, (the kitchen), with light switches and a few power points elsewhere. The easy access to the underside of the floor and the spacious ceiling void, (formed by the 1:2 or 26.5 degree, or 1:1 or 45 degree pitch; the geometry was always as straightforward and diagrammatic as the planning, like the plot proportions###), meant that these simple services could easily be relocated to suit one’s purposes: power points installed from below; lights from above. Only the corrugated iron stove recess would define the ‘kitchen’ space in some versions of the dwelling, but with the wood burning cookers changing over time to gas and electrical appliances, even this limitation was overcome, creating total flexibility. Stove recesses became an architectural toy for general storage and heritage referencing games in the 1970s; but these traditional legacies are not the qualities that this publication expounds. It is the open space connection that is the core concept shaping the new Queensland house. While this might be intriguing, there are a lot of qualities in the traditional building that the association sought by the ‘new’ seems to want to appropriate, while appearing to want to ignore others that do not fit the theme, by concentrating only on the preferred vision.
✤ ✤ ✤
.jpg)
.jpg)
Perusing the admirable published photographs,*** one becomes bemused by the self-centredness of the images. It appears that one is supposed to look amazed only at the project being illustrated, and not glimpse at or consider any context or prospect that just happens to get into the frame as a matter of necessity. Only a couple of projects show any interest in the context. It seems clear that the intent of the majority of images is the artful architectural isolation, with a selective framing that has its own compositional arrangements that engage the eye and manage perceptions. Frequently, it is the art of the wide-angled lens so loved by architects and real estate agents that entrances. One can comment on the excellence of the presentation of all the images in this publication, while at the same time remaining critical of them; different issues are involved. The drawings are exquisite and precise, while the photography is an excellent display of the skilled camera work used with architectural subjects; the presentation is exemplary. It is difficult to fault; as are the projects themselves that are all admirable, each in its own way. The concern is perhaps philosophical; it has to do with the search for that sense of wholeness in dwelling, that idea of community that creates the suburb, village, town, city where others are enjoyed rather than isolated for the benefit of MY display. The proposition has been put that modernity is singular; see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2023/05/architecture-is-not-singular.html, https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/10/the-rose-seidler-house-private-visions.html, and https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2020/02/villa-mairea-city-of-solitude.html. The publication reinforces this perception, not only with the isolation of the project by the camera, but also the complete self-centredness of each design that, although there might be a theme or a shared approach, or maybe some minimal heritage referencing, remains totally unconcerned with, and unrelated to every other design, wanting nothing to do with each other, other than perhaps being happy to be collected as a set for this book.****
It is this core self-interest in self-expression that leaves one staring at the snippets of context in these images that one senses are not wanted there, or do not need to be perceived or considered in any way, just ignored as sundry, inadvertent asides, when the neighbour or street is really, in reality, ‘in your face’ or otherwise necessarily engaged with your dwelling so as to become a part of the whole that few really want to acknowledge. One gets the sense that each individual project would like to be totally alone, especially with this core notion of outdoor rooms. Too many outdoor rooms simply means that everyone is sharing something of a communal open space, which seems to be the antithesis of this private intent when there are adjacencies like those seen in neighbouring backyards with low fencing.
.jpg)
In spite of this situation, there is the claim – p.10:
Design thinking has expanded to encompass a broader impact on community rather than just focus on the single dwelling itself.
It is difficult to see exactly how this might be occurring. The circumstance leaves one struggling with thoughts about the future of our suburbs, towns and cities when communal interests seem to be an irrelevance. Most drawings do give a contextual plan showing the bushland or suburban setting of the project, but the Street View is rarely seen - only twice is a street image shown in this selection. No matter how compact the setting might be, the neighbours are generally framed out, blocked off completely unless a glimpse cannot be avoided, then this portion is very likely to be put out of focus or otherwise ‘shopped,’ if possible. It seems that the surrounding trees and bushes are acceptable, but not any neighbour, or that glimpse one gets when walking down the street - that nonchalant, everyday engagement with the discovery of place that becomes a part of us and our understanding. We are told, directed by the lens, how to see this work; how we must close our eyes to all ad hoc distractions, consider them irrelevant, erroneous, and concentrate on the brilliance of the project being illustrated. This is a serious concern for the future of any community, displaying a latent intolerance, even though everything can be seen to be quality, stylish, and classy; good, carefully detailed design all in good taste. What we are given here is the gem that is presented to us in the shambles of a context such that we become startled at the genius and stand agog, transfixed at the marvel before our eyes,: then we move on again down the road into the nothingness of bland suburbia, the accumulated accretion of things to be dismissed, ignored, (p.69, the unassuming residential streets), while looking for the next visual excitement. One only has to turn the page of this book while sitting in the lounge to get the next buzz - such is the book’s delight; and its worrying promotion of this indulgent ideal that, as is argued, chooses to ignore the actual new, ordinary Queensland house; to dismiss it as an irrelevance; worse, as an undesirable, unwanted development: the ignorant, unassuming project house. #
.jpg)
.jpg)
.png)
.png)
✤ ✤ ✤
One recalls a student project set for QUT students^ where the image of one beautifully-sited, ordinary worker’s cottage on an acute corner site close to the Gabba, had been removed from the illustration in the brief that included photographs of the two streets shaping this site and all of the neighbouring properties in the area. Students were asked to design a house on this special block in this known, but unidentified location with this explicit context. No one sited a building with anything as simple and extraordinary as the existing property that students could later visit, experience, and consider after thinking about the options themselves. The workers’ cottage on high stumps with its straight stair entry sat on the axis that bisected the acute angle of the corner intersection, at the back of the triangular site, giving a classical formalism to this simple dwelling in a most obviously basic, but sophisticated manner. It is this unexpected quality of the ‘Queenslander,’ the rigour that arises out of casual unself-consciousness that intrigues. It is a quality that the ‘new’ knows little about; sometimes one senses that a project might be trying just a little too hard to be different.
In this vein, perhaps, instead of illustrating unique projects from inside out, should we just reveal how the buildings impact and relate to everything around them in their particular context? One might indulge the reader by illustrating a wonderful outdoor room that appears a spectacular wonderment when photographed alone, but what would the impact be if all neighbours excluded from the image, were included, or developed likewise?++ Consider the replication of the ‘Burleigh Heads’ granny flat – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/04/wheres-granny-flat.html, (where the proposition has apparenty become a reality that seems to have stimulated change: might this project be an embarrassment for the authors who note, p 69, on the Cantala Avenue House: that it elevates the value of the housing stock of the city's developer-driven suburban tracts and eschews the ubiquitous knockdown and rebuild approach that continues to undermine the authentic and nuanced character of this special place in the Queensland sun? – see: https://earth.google.com/web/search/20+14th+av+palm+beach+qld/@-28.11444458,153.46640177,7.69140155a,0d,60y,142.02788514h,89.73309924t,0r/data=CokBGlsSVQolMHg2YjkxMDNjYmRiOWJkY2Y1OjB4YjhkMzA3NmIwZjc3ZDk3MBkxIlFoWR08wCEGqjWD7i5jQCoaMjAgMTR0aCBhdmUgcGFsbSBiZWFjaCBxbGQYASABIiYKJAmhFEmRhOFAwBEIsYt0aehAwBlt2er_XepiQCESRzHoHOhiQEICCAEiGgoWOEJqRUVBM245Nm9Td2dwZkltN3pVZxACOgMKATBCAggASg0IARAA). One wonders: how might these projects be seen if they were never revealed other than by their communal interactions, in a way similar to that adopted by the student project that isolated the definition of the dwelling? With such an approach, one cannot avoid seeing the other that is a part of the whole community whether desired or not. Architecture is not an island: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/03/architectures-two-remote-islands-too.html. So instead of declaring ME, why not reveal US, not as a selection of houses chosen to promote an ideal, but as a community, seeking wholeness in richness together as the suburb, the town, the city, and responding to the character of place, both in these locations and in the rural areas, not as display homes, but as places happy to be, sharing lived experiences and relying on this community for being, and being there?
✤ ✤ ✤
There is another matter that needs comment on these Queensland houses: the cost. The original housing catalogues came with prices for a basic house, or one with special extras, all identified clearly, precisely itemised as a pounds, shillings, and pence costed set of options. ‘The New Queensland House’ publication does not reveal any costing of the projects illustrated; nor are there any approximations of costs that might be used as broad guidelines provided: under $X; over $Y; etc. This is an important omission. The argument that project homes are really the new ‘Queenslanders’ fits the model, coming with catalogues complete with prices, with priced variations available as a part of the promotion of these much-mocked dwellings that can come as house and land packages, advertised with times for completion. These are the houses that grace our suburbs; the majority, whether we like it or not: see, for example, the James Hardie Design Trends & Forecast 2025 site – https://www.jameshardie.com.au/modern-homes-forecast2025 that becomes the stimulant for developers and the inspiration for potential homeowners.
The proposition is that the new, universal Queensland house is one that is affordable and available for the masses. It is not a philosophical or theoretical attitude to dwelling, a clever reference to some concept, or a unique topology for living, as the Thames & Hudson publication appears to argue: it is truly the people’s house. It is not a bespoke gathering of, or a harnessing (of) the dynamics of light and unfolding views . . . (that have) inspired the detailed design of transitional spaces such as staircases, thresholds, walkways, and landings that incorporate discreet places for artworks, ‘light shrouds’, and furniture pieces to enrich these connecting social spaces, (p.37), all irrespective of cost. It includes the humble, affordable abode for ordinary life in all of its basic complexities. The Campbell’s Redicut house succinctly schedules its parts and identifies its plan and perspective all in one small page; the C House boasts just under 1000 A3 sheets of drawings. That one can now make so much of this basic, one-page package says a lot about the qualities of this model for housing that are just not replicated in this suave publication where a unique complexity is generated by a collection of intricate, bespoke convolutions that aim at this intertwining of ideas, references, and concepts to claim a position, when real, astonishing depth is best embodied in straightforward, honest, ordinary simplicity, holding an innate, subtle integrity as seen in the ‘Queenslander,’ inside and out. It is too easy to make things extraordinary in our world that can achieve just about anything, and declare this difference to be a mysterious wonderment. One has to devise a way to get meaning out of (see Campbell’s schedule):
Studs, 5 X 4; 3 X 3; 3 X 2 Hardwood.
Main Floor Joists, 5 X 2 Hardwood.
Verandah Floor Joists, 4 X 2 Hardwood.
Verandah Bottom Plates, 3 X 2 Hardwood.
Verandah Posts and Newels, 4 X 4 Dressed Hardwood
etc.
There is nothing here about inspired transitional spaces; rather, one might expect a critique on the messy planning, and, as we have seen, the claimed disconnection to open space: ‘floating indifferently’ – which, when I recall the little house at Plainland, seems to be a concerning perception fabricated to fit the theory: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/10/returning-to-brisbane-demise-of-planning.html.
✤ ✤ ✤
On the references to the aboriginal land on which the projects have been constructed: sadly this notation does nothing but add some ‘social credit’ to the architects/authors. The noting of this fact is just an ad hoc aside, as it has no impact on anything but political correctness; just nothing – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2024/06/country-outside-inside-place.html. Thames & Hudson must have a standard text format for recognition, just as the government has: see the ‘country’ blog above. The last page of the book records: Thames & Hudson Australia wishes to acknowledge that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are the first storytellers of this nation and the traditional custodians of the land on which we live and work. We acknowledge their continuing culture and pay respect to Elders past, present and future. Mmm: that should do the trick; now, on with the book.
.jpg)
.jpg)
What real outcomes arise from this acknowledgement other than a tick in the box: recognition done; ‘Now the bludgers can’t complain!’? One can see nothing but words, words, and the same words of acknowledgement: meanwhile over 60 percent of the population voted ‘NO’ to deny the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people a Voice in the referendum: as if anyone might care. There is clearly some humbug here. One wonders if there is even a flicker of a thought given to anything Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander at any time other than when it is thought necessary to acknowledge them. One can see nothing in the publication to suggest any glimmer of a gesture in anything that might arise from recognition. La Scala, e.g , built on the land of the Turrbal and Yuggera peoples, seems too busy drawing widely on historical precedents from around the world to be bothered with any local Aboriginal tribes - things Roman and South American, Scarpa, and the Italian Villa Malaparte in Capri, get attention. Even the ‘Queenslander’ timber detailing gets forgotten in some projects that seem to prefer the more sophisticated references to Mondrian, Macintosh and Rietveld. Contempt, the movie that used Villa Malaparte as a stage set for some classic shots, seems an appropriate mood when it comes to this ‘proper’ recognition.
.jpg)
It is odd that what has been promoted as the sensitive approach to land, to ‘country’ - see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2024/06/country-outside-inside-place.html - so much spoken about by Murcutt, seems to have been discarded. The strategy that might have shown some awareness of and respect for matters indigenous, for ‘country,’ embodied in the phrase, the mantra, ‘Touch the ground lightly,’ now refers to a connection to the ground, the relationship with it, its physical contours, the natural topography, rather than its spirit – p.13:
the traditional residential architecture of Brisbane – and Queensland more generally – where elevated timber houses (so-called ‘Queenslanders’) were built on stumps, floating indifferently above the ground. This shift in the use of materials (to insitu concrete) and connection to the ground . . . marked at turning point in Queensland architecture.
It is explained that the exemplar - p.13:
the C House . . . inverted the traditional Queensland model of an elevated (light-weight) house surrounded by gardens and lawn and, instead, established a strong relationship with the natural topography.
It is as if the vernacular house ‘on stumps,’ (a blunt, crude-sounding term with something terminal about it with its cricket reference), had no significant connection or relationship with place; or an inferior one, when it did touch country lightly, as elegantly as the much-praised Farnsworth house; and it was portable too: the little house at Plainland disappeared one day. The only way one could recall where it was located was by the bend in the highway and the tree that it once stood beside; it left no mark on the land.
.jpg)
✤ ✤ ✤
After a drive and enjoying the music being played, I realise that there are songs that I am listening to that I am fond of, without clearly hearing the words, or knowing them. One might liken this to an appreciation of these drawings and photographs: one can admire them for their compositional rhythms and visual harmonies without knowing the ‘words,’ or even with the ‘words’ being gobbledegook, when the term ‘words’ here relates to the concept of the project, its meaning, function, and integrity; the intent and its coherence. The images have a life of their own that one is encouraged to see as being representative of the real experience when this may not be so.+++ Street View frequently reveals the schism, exposing the guile that bridges raw experience with the suave illusion of the presentation; hence the significance of the actual address of each project.^^
.jpg)
.jpg)
Here the size of the book, the hard cover, the quality paper, and the sophisticated graphic presentation all play a role too; one does note the effort that has gone in to finesse the design of this book with the imprinted title on both the cover and the spine; just that little bit extra to impress (no pun intended). The question was asked of the Robin Gibson book: do graphic designers ever consider the reader when choosing a size for a book or its graphics? – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2025/02/robin-gibson-book.html. It is interesting to think about what might determine the size that is chosen for a publication? Is this Thames & Hudson volume really just an ideal coffee table book both in size and design? Good presentation is fine, desirable; it is that gap between the appearance and the actual subject represented that remains a concern. The nagging nuisance of the page numbers not being mirrored seems to suggest a disregard of the reader’s convenience, with the emphasis being on the chosen, different stylish image. Consider the thinking that chose to imprint the cover. The title itself stimulates an expectation that is difficult to sustain, with the cover illustration being a project with an array of remote references that set concepts askew when one comes to consider the ‘Queenslander’s’ replacement, and its roots, and the preferred new housing for Queensland. Why do we have to reference things overseas? Is this the cringe again? There seems to be a desire to identify with the ‘Queenslander’ only for the benefits of its distinct esteem rather than for any real commitment to its cultural, social, rational, practical, and economic qualities. The proposition that the outdoor room is the key to things Queensland seems to be an enthusiastic fabrication made to fit a preferred theory, perhaps a fashion, that is then proven with further contrivances as a set of chosen projects collected under this general theme that, in the ‘Queenslander,’ has a history of enclosure rather than any celebration of open space.
.jpg)
Yet it is explained that the idea that – p.18:
the projects presented here (do not) forego the habits of vernacular construction . . . (they)
compel us to rethink what ‘the vernacular’ might now entail.
.jpg)
There seems to be some confusion here about matters ‘vernacular’ that involve, by definition: the language or dialect spoken by the ordinary people in a particular country or region; architecture concerned with domestic and functional rather than public or monumental buildings;
with similar words being:
everyday language; spoken language; colloquial speech; native speech; conversational language; common parlance; non-standard language; jargon; -speak; cant; slang; idiom; argot; patois; dialect; regional language; local tongue; regionalism; localism; provincialism; lingo; local lingo; patter; geekspeak; idiolect:
with the word coming from:
LATIN verna – home-born, slave; vernaculus – domestic, native; vernacular.
It is difficult to see how the change in materials, to insitu concrete, spoken about so positively in the text, actually relates to ‘vernacular construction’ in any way apart from the concrete slabs-on-ground of the project houses; and the interest in the ‘future’ vernacular seems to be something needing a change in attitude within the profession, requiring greater tolerance and respect for others rather than talking about educating the masses: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2025/02/robin-gibson-book.html. Architects do not create a ‘vernacular.’ ‘Vernacular’ relates to a much more ordinary, everyday spectrum, arising integrally, described as ‘native’ rather than embodying the promotion of a particular ideal or theory. It is something more general, local, ordinary, home-born, domestic, relating to the people in the way that slang and jargon are embedded in the ordinary population, not Shakespeare; dialect and lingo, not elocution
These published projects might be presented as examples that could drive some modification in popular thinking and ambitions, but this is not necessarily a simple or direct, or even an essential or inevitable process.^^^ There is an array of other matters that involve things vernacular,## many of which the profession totally disregards or dismisses as being unworthy of its attention as it concentrates on its bespoke visions. At present it is the vernacular that is shaping our suburbs, towns, and cities in a way almost despised by architects; in spite of them; with the profession considering these buildings as prosaic and suburb-defining, p.203; in unassuming suburban streets, p.69. It is the project house that holds the popular place in the population that is the equivalent to the ‘Queenslander,’ (just look at the new developments like Stockland’s Aura Village at Bells Creek), but it remains disregarded by architects as being something like an unenlightened expression by an illiterate population indifferent to the caring subtlety of artful, intellectual referencing and unusual, creative ideas. Other diverse subtleties and realities are involved, and complexities beyond one’s control, as seen in the images of Street View so disliked by the professional eye. What is clear is that the vernacular is not a house that takes eight (or six?) years to build, or nearly 1000 sheets to document, no matter how wonderful an icon this process might create – p.13: (The C House) took some eight years to complete, with fastidious attention given to the drawing and resolution of its details; and p.22: After six years of construction and a set of architect’s drawings that numbered almost 1000 A3 sheets (the majority hand drawn) . . .
.jpg)
.jpg)
.png)
Indeed, architects might be surprised at the word that the vernacular might use for such a celebrated project so beloved by the profession. The nagging question remains: if we are seriously so interested in the ‘vernacular,’ why do we maintain the ‘cringe’ and try to seek some status in the opinions and visions of others from afar? It is acknowledged that there is a fine line between ‘vernacular’ and ‘parochial,’ but we do seem to have a great desire for imports in all fields that creates an awful imbalance that nags, like that between the local Holden and the Porsche; and Brown Brothers Reserve Brut and Dom Pérignon Brut Vintage; emotional voids that confirm our assumed inferior status. Is there a desire to just ignore the obvious issue, like that schism seen in labels that boast ‘Designed in Sweden’ in bold, with the ‘Made in China’ lost on the label in tiny text, as we press on with theories of habitation and play with intellectual references – designed in Australia; referencing the world?
✤ ✤ ✤
I type this on a windy Queensland day, with strong westerlies blasting the east coast. It is a day not to be outside; a day for the shutters/doors/windows to be closed to make the space claimed to be the conceptual centrepiece of a dwelling, useful and enjoyable: Queensland, beautifully sunny one day; hot, stormy and windy, or cold and damp the next: but alas, this reality has no impact on the concept being idolised – the open room. Yes, the ordinary Queenslander has a response to these matters that creates the great divide between the 1 + 28 projects published in this book, and the everyday. Just how this gap gets managed remains a dilemma, like that difference between the traditional ‘Queenslander’ and these new houses. Hopefully this impressive publication might stimulate some change to improve circumstances; one can only hope that its ambitions are not self-defeating, leaving the book to remain a pretty coffee table item for those who show an interest in impressing with stylish appearances.
.jpg)
NOTES & COMMENTARY
^
QUT
On student teaching and development one can concur with Andreson and Keniger that architecture is really an apprenticeship and doesn’t fit the normal academic model; it is agreed that practice and learning must go together. The students in the QUT six year part-time course, had the benefit of being engaged in full-time architectural practice while having full-time lecturers in part-time practice, and tutors/lecturers who were full-time practitioners and part-time lecturers. This course structure could use the experience of work and learning, in the case of architectural design in particular, by concentrating on the more ephemeral and subtle aspects of architecture in the course - one could say ‘its poetics’ - with challenging briefs that explored concepts and ideas in projects that were never repeated. Everyday work involved everyone in the realities of practice: pragmatics such as detailing for functional fabrication and performance, managing schedules, and the like; QUT could build on this differently.
The idea that the years coming into this particular course might be able to anticipate a future set of challenges by looking at this one year’s output, was curtailed by this strategy of constant change that kept students and staff on their toes with ever-new ideas, explorations and challenges. Learning was for everyone to share in. The task of QUT was to provide unique experiences and challenges that were unlikely to be a part of regular, everyday practice, and to encourage conceptual experiments and exercises that explored diversity in the broad spectrum of design, theory, and ideas.
**
KNOWING THE ‘QUEENSLANDER’
We were raised with frequent visits to the family home, travelling from Brisbane to grandmother’s ‘Queenslander’ in the country town of Laidley, enjoying the discovery of its dim nooks and crannies as we played hide and seek in the maze – mother might have said ‘run riot.’ The memories of this homely ‘Queenslander,’ high on stumps, square, encircled by an enclosed verandah under a pyramidal roof, with an awkward pair of lattice front doors at the top of the flight of entry stairs that enforced the cumbrous, squeeze-through greeting, linger in the body, as do its memorable, camphoraceous, musky smells. These front stairs became the main location for family group photos, reminding one of the relatives who were always photographed standing in front of the front door or porch of small, traditional cottages overseas, as sentinels. Other family members and friends who also lived in a version of the ‘Queenslander’ in Laidley and suburban Brisbane, were always a part of our lives too.
Home was an old ‘Queenslander,’ a New Farm shop house. The shop had been built in front of an old worker’s cottage, as part of an extension to a separate pyramidal roofed ‘Queenslander’ house that sat close to the street alignment, complete with its copper boiler and concrete tubs in the laundry at the rear entry which was the main, everyday entrance to the house. The original ‘Blackall’-styled house had wide, horizontal interior boarding, suggesting it dated as the circa 1890s. The verandahed house stood low, in front of the small worker’s cottage that was on higher wooden stumps, all on forty perches of land; this cottage was rented out. Two dunnies to be used by everyone were located in the backyard that contained a vegetable garden and a chook pen that gave us food, and had a fig tree, a mango tree, and a loquat tree which provided us with climbing games and missiles. Eventually the curved-roofed verandah of ‘The Blackall’ was enclosed with glass louvres and fitted with a ‘Fibro’ asbestos cement sheeting to make two bedrooms, and a small flat that was also rented out.
From there we moved nearby to a later 1930s house on concrete stumps, a pseudo-Federation worker’s cottage, clad in weatherboards with expressed gables, casement windows, and timber battens. Married, we moved into an original, older, smaller worker’s cottage – verandah, four rooms, rear sitting area and a kitchen with toilet and bathroom below: like ‘The Laidley’ house in the catalogue - with some rooms still unpainted, having been left the beautiful, aged tan of the raw T&G hoop pine. (The daughter once owned a ‘Queenslander’ where the whole interior was this old, unpainted hoop pine; it felt like a Japanese house: alas, the new owners painted it.) The kitchen had its stove recess with a Crown stove, which we kept; so this space remained to be fitted out again as the kitchen.
The sit-out space was made the dining/sitting room, one other space the living room; another the bathroom, dressing, wardrobe room; one a bedroom; and the last room was the study. The verandah was rarely used as it faced west and the street. The most popular and most-used room was the dining/sitting room on the east that had sliding timber sashes glazed with green and pink checker-board glass panels. There was no heating, and no insulation, but the home was a quaint, friendly place with a ledged and braced back door fitted with a black and brass rim lock that had a big, basic key stamped ‘6’ - or was it ‘9’? - being one of the limited number of a dozen or so key variations available.
This rear access was the most frequently used approach to the house, up a flight of back stairs. The space under the house was enclosed in battens. The front door was the pair of narrow lattice doors located perilously, directly at the top of a flight of twelve risers, with the grandly formal main door, appropriately panelled out of solid hoop pine, complete with a cast iron knob and knocker, stood sheltered behind this entry screen between the double-hung windows of the bedroom and study that fronted the verandah. The balustrades were one inch dowels between top and bottom rails. Inside, the finer panelled doors were topped with pretty decorative fretwork panels. The formal passage into the living area between the bedroom and the study, was terminated with a small, simple, but elegant arch defining the entry into the living space. This was a basic worker’s cottage that was due to be demolished, and was, along with all those in the block, to make way for the southeast freeway in Brisbane.
A few years later we moved to a larger 1920s home, (the garden taps were dated 1922), in an inner-city suburb - 3m ceilings, some panelled ply, others T &G, some rooms with picture rails; an entry arch in the front room, with the verandah ceiling lime washed asbestos cement sheeting with dark stained battens; with internal spaces all nicely pieced together almost diagrammatically, to give an unusual spiral plan. Internal doors were panelled, with pivot fanlights over each one. The kitchen had its ‘Fibro’-lined stove recess and came with built-in cupboards, all cleverly incorporated in the plan. The verandah had been enclosed with casement windows. The grand ‘Federation’ stair had an entry archway and a beaten copper plate mysteriously marked with the word Koomaraka. It was a bespoke ‘Queenslander’ planned by a city chemist, with what had been the Maid’s Room, subsequently truncated to include the toilet that connected to the new sewer service that only arrived in the 1950s. Fifty years later, we moved to a 1950s war service home, (the newspapers under the suspended concrete slab of the deck are dated 1954). We enclosed its deck to make what is now our most-used living space.
.jpg)
So we know something about the houses, not just the romantic words and poetic references seen by the amazed foreign eye, but their details, their functioning, their performances, their character, their efficiencies, their problems, their decoration, their mysterious underside; their spacious lightweight roof spaces; their social impacts; their flexibility; their ordinary modesty; their workmanship; their unique richness; their basic construction and its careful precision; their unself-consciousness; their everyday integrity; their ordinary wonder and their frustrations; and more. It is the caring discernment of the detail at the complex junction of the ridge capping at the top of the hip/ridge connection that sticks in one’s mind as the exemplar: silicone-free connections all beautifully crafted with an exquisite geometrical resolution with profiles intersecting and overlapping with an elegant, soldered perfection, all where no one would be likely to see it. Such was the craftsmanship involved in the making of the ordinary ‘Queenslander’ when even Ruskin had suggested that the higher, less obvious portions of a building could be cruder in detail – even on a cathedral, let alone an ordinary house.
#
PUBLIC PLACE
One can sense the possible concerns here with privacy, etc., but Street Views are public, revealing the view available to every passerby; and when the site can be located with available public information, these details and the Street View become an integral part of the publicity, the public presentation of the project. At the very least, as one point of agreement, the starting point, one needs to acknowledge that this issue of bespoke identity is having an impact on community. Are we self-destructing with just too much consideration for ourselves; for example, with the attempt to withhold information on the cliché grounds of not disclosing personal information when seeking publicity and acclaim? We talk about improving our suburbs, towns, and cities, but continue on with our itemised, singular, bespoke approaches to dwelling both in design and its promotion, as we continue our critique of the everyday. We need to do better than this.
++
NEIGHBOURS
One always has to be aware that the development of one site is not using a quality of or circumstance in any adjacent property for its amenity. Promoting the use of outdoor areas and developments in backyards might sound idyllic, and all of the images might look very attractive, but this could be only because the neighbouring development has been cropped from the image, and/or that the neighbour has not yet built a similar concept. Boasting about passive energy in an infill dwelling might only be possible because the adjacent backyards are open space, allowing breezes and light to penetrate into the infill development. Things could easily be different with changes to these adjacent voids. One needs to look at the Granny Flat, (p.241-247, and Street View), to see the impacts of time.
+
INFILLING
While life in the open room might appear to be interesting as a theory, something different for Queensland to boast about, (surely this is not a reaction to the ‘redneck’ perception, to prove a point?), there is a whole history of verandah enclosure with the traditional ‘Queenslander’ that this vision of outdoor living seems to want to ignore, even though the patterns of the pieces used for additional shelter might be admired – lattice, shutters, louvres, etc. The beginnings of the ‘Queenslander’ holds the latent potential for the process of ad hoc infilling, where ‘The Blackall’ becomes ‘The Clifton’ when portions of the verandah are enclosed to include a kitchen and a bath room not in the original. We seem to forget that these houses had only basic services, with the toilet being the outdoor dunny, and the bathroom being the space under the tank stand or under the house, enclosed in corrugated iron, at best mini orb. Living in these circumstances holds a challenging quality that is ignored by the poetic interpretations of space and place captured in photographs; the experience of living in the original ‘Queenslander’ seems to have more of a relationship to camping in a tent, now called ‘glamping,’ than anything else.
The concept of using the verandah for extra space not available in the original basic plan, has been established in the original offerings in the pre-cut catalogue. Over time, with that lovely open area so idealised by the romantic vision of the ‘Queenslander,’ people have sought a variety of ways to provide a better protected outdoor space, a matter that seems to have arisen from experience and necessity. This could include the need for greater privacy; greater security; more shelter from the sun; greater protection from the wind and rain; and pressures on functional spaces. ‘The Blackall’ in Laidley that was fully enclosed, eventually accommodated a family of nine people, parents and seven children, who lived there into late adulthood, with some marrying in mid-life, while others never left this home in their lifetime. This characteristic of dwelling and habitation is lost on us today when we worry about only having two bathrooms each with twin basins, and five bedrooms, grand open spaces. etc. Living in a ‘Queenslander’ has a lovely open fairness and modesty about it that demands tolerance. People are astonished to hear how we, as a family of five, lived for fifty years with one toilet, one bathroom, and one car. This would have been considered pure luxury by our Shetland grandmother who, with grandfather, raised four boys in a cottage with four rooms and a central stair: a kitchen; a sitting room; and two bedrooms.
The ‘Queenslander’ came with open verandahs. The effort to make these spaces more useful meant that various methods of enclosure were developed to give flexibility. The infill started with permanent, protective screens, lattice panels fixed above the handrails for more shelter for the open spaces; this gave way to the classic Thurlow chain Venetian blinds, slatted roller blinds, and striped canvas that maintained the temporary sense of enclosure while giving some flexibility for transitional shelter. For better protection and more certain enclosure, shutters that could open like an awning window were fitted over the balustrade that was enclosed, sheeted externally with weatherboards, and internally with ‘Fibro’ asbestos cement cladding offering improved weather protection with some flexibility. These options had a temporary feel that maintained the verandah’s character of an open space; an ‘open-air’ space. Subsequently casement windows were installed over the clad balustrade, with louvres eventually replacing casements; then bi-fold doors and windows were introduced; one sees these in coffee shops and in general living areas wanting a controlled flexibility. Sliding windows and doors were used too, but didn't open completely. The approach has continued today with outdoor eating areas frequently having bi-fold windows and doors to manage the enclosure when desirable, with transparent plastic blinds installed around other covered open areas, that can be rolled down to protect customers from wind and rain. Operators have been known to insist on this amenity in spite of many objections in favour of maintaining the open space. Shade cloth and similar products are now being used for protection from sun and wind. The point is that there has always been the pressure to modify the open verandah, to manage the weather, be this sunshine, wind, or rain, to give a more protected, comfortable, flexible place. The desire for an open, ‘Queensland’ room seems at odds with this history. The ideal of openness appears to remain just that, a preferred vision that soon finds itself under stress, for the space to become practically useful, unless one dwells on the intellectual interpretations and preferences for this gesture, remaining determined about and committed to these idealistic ‘al fresco’ qualities.
Outdoor living appears to be presented here, in this publication, as a hyper reality, just as matters are in TV commercials that over-emphasise the joyously unique benefits and super indulgent enjoyments of an event/concept to the total exclusion of any critique or contextual hiccup, no matter how minor this blemish might be. Nothing is allowed to come between the expectation of total happiness, and complete comfort and satisfaction, and the reality, not even an everyday Street View image.
*
THE LIVING
I can recall emptying my daughter’s small ‘Queenslander,’ getting it ready for sale. I was standing in what had been the living room. As usual, the louvre-enclosed verandah had the half-lattice pair of entry doors precariously located directly at the top of the front stair that stretched out to the street as a pointing finger; the verandah faced north, and returned along the eastern side of the room I was in, joining up to the dining room, creating one of three looping detours in the plan. The formal entry door with its circular, geometric leadlight window adjacent to it, Art Deco in style, all framed in flared architraves, opened up from this northern verandah space directly into the living area; a pair of French doors opened up to the eastern verandah space. Two bedrooms opened off this living area and fronted another enclosed verandah on the west. This separate verandah space had been enclosed with pairs of casements with clear ‘arctic’ and green ‘cathedral’ glazing. To the south was the dining room that overlooked the backyard above the rear stair through clear glazed casements; this space joined up to the eastern verandah in one corner. The kitchen was adjacent to this dining space, on the bedroom side of the house. It had a stove recess/pantry lined with ‘Fibro.’ The bathroom had been built at the end of the western verandah in the southwest corner of the house, with the toilet next to this ‘wet area’ in a separate space, accessible only through the two bed rooms along the western verandah. The interior doors were panelled with decorative fretwork panels above; the walls were T&G; the ceilings plywood and asbestos cement sheeting, with simple batten divisional decorations that became more elaborate in the living room, with a diagonal square framing the light fitting that was a mock Art Deco glass chandelier; all other lights had exposed bulbs with simple ‘Chinaman hat’ shades.
The plan was what one might call an incompetent mess, with spaces intertwined into an inefficient, illogical juxtaposition of inappropriate functional interplays; the living room and one bed room were effectively internal spaces connected to enclosed verandahs through pairs of French doors that opened out, in the same way as the dining room joined the eastern enclosed verandah. Yet, as I stood in this space, in the empty house, with the sunlight streaming into the adjacent bedroom and verandah spaces, and the soft light filtering in from the south through the dining area, one could admire the place; sense how good it was to live in, in spite of all its theoretical and practical faults, foibles, and failures. One felt at home here; one could happily live here with this ad hoc planning that seemed so forgiving and accommodating in a happily strange way - tolerant. It may not have been photogenic, and it had no pretence; it did not try to be anything for grand display; it did not seek to be a theatrical performance area for outsiders to observe and admire in glossy colour. It would not be considered art, or artful; but it was satisfactory in every way. It was modestly nothing at all, but everything, even with the just too low under-house space where the laundry with the concrete tubs and old boiler was located, along with the car parking space and general storage areas that still had random ‘stuff’ left from previous owners stuck in the corner and above the bearers between the joists. This space, that had a concrete floor, was fully battened, and could be secured. A portion of the front had been recessed and decorated with battened arches, with the shady recess being planted with maidenhair ferns.
One could be centred here, effortlessly content. There was a sense of past lives here too; of previous satisfactions that condoned all the faults, and cared for the place, admiring its little pieces of nonchalant, ad hoc detailing that had been neatly pieced together in a self-conscious manner, just properly and carefully; honestly; skilfully. One could change and fit into this cocoon, easily and happily; the house could adopt and adapt just as readily as those living there could forgive and enjoy the place. Each function seemed at ease with the other; there was no complaint here; no whinging about compliance and lack of efficiencies; nor was there a struggle to be ‘something’ - it just was; and was right. There was a beauty in these voids that one was sad to leave behind: the memory still lingers, just as it does for each ‘Queenslander’ we have experienced. These houses embody honest satisfaction and happy completeness in a way that other places with their effort for bespoke display as self-promotion, don’t; these modest places do not seek acclaim; they embrace with their embodied simplicity; they warm to habitation agreeably, giving a friendly welcome with their form and fabric; they are delighted to share without any apology for anything, just a greeting.
There was an innocence here; there was nothing in particular to applaud or commend, or to itemise for published praise, but everything was admirable; there was a latent, satisfying peace ready to accept a new life and to enjoy the encounter: there was something worthy here; something of quiet substance that declared nothing, but anticipated everything; it was a little ‘Queenslander.’
^^
ADDRESSES
Cameron Bruhn & Katelin Butler The New Queensland House Thames & Hudson
Australia, Port Melbourne, 2022.
With my interest in Google Earth/Street View and its role in architecture that highlights the everyday and reveals the context never disclosed by the careful, glossy framing of the architectural image, the location of each ‘new Queensland house’, (from the Bruhn and Butler Thames & Hudson publication with this title), has been scheduled. The searches for these buildings on Google Earth/Street View use the information provided in the publication, with those for the three projects with no location plan, (NLP), relying on further information recorded online: in two cases this involved material published by the architects; the other search used information provided by the holiday listing of the letting agency.
It is interesting to explore the contexts of these projects which are usually not illustrated in the carefully framed compositions of the architectural presentation, and to consider how these connections and relationships modify perceptions, sometimes changing understandings for the better; sometimes causing them to be muddled; uncertain; varied. Either way, the extension of how one knows these projects beyond the pretty precision of the published perspectives, all in perfectly arranged gloss, is an interesting experience; hence my argument for Google Earth/Street View: architecture is not an isolated, singular matter managed by public relations; nor is it lived in a picture gallery or a coffee table book, although these are the main sources of our information today. It is worth pondering the implications of these limitations that support a preferred hagiographical reading of the work, and curb any critique.
Only one project was blurred out by Google Earth and Street View, an option that would have been at the owner’s request. This is a puzzling move that seems at odds with the approval to have the location plan, the house plans, elevations, and section, and photographs of the intimate living spaces, published for international consumption: (the book was first published in Australia 2022; and in the United Kingdom, 2023): only two projects provided a street view.
Where a street address could not be provided, or a location may not be very clear as a street address, co-ordinates of the building have been given.
C House - 27°30’06”S 153°04’21”E: 387 Chatsworth Road, Coorparoo (NLP).
Chelmer House - 180 Victoria Avenue, Chelmer.
Oxlade Drive House - 91 Oxlade Drive, New Farm.
Rosalie House - 23 Agars Street, Rosalie.
Cantalana Avenue House - 7 Cantalana Avenue, Miami.
Beck Street, Paddington House - 61 Beck Street, Paddington.
Earl Parade, Manly - 12 Earl Parade, Manly.
La Scala, Bowen Hills - 24 Cowlishaw Street, Bowen Hills.
Cape Tribulation House - 16°04’01”S 145°27’45”E.
Julie House, St. Lucia - 137A Ninth Avenue, St. Lucia: (site blurred by Google).
Planchonella House, Edge Hill, Cairns - 16°53’37”S 145°44’06”E.
Moonshine, North Stradbroke Island - 6 Booran Street, Point Lookout (NLP).
Bellbird Retreat, Killarney - 28°18’48”S 152°19’52”E.
Mt. Coot-tha House, Brisbane - 30 Hackett Street, Ashgrove: 27°27’10”S 152°58’08”E.
Sunrise Studio, Doonan - 371 Sunrise Road, Doonan (Timbeerwah, Queensland).
Aperture House, Highgate Hill, Brisbane - 16 Baynes Street, Highgate Hill.
Shutter House, West End - 6 Adelaide Street, West End (NLP).
Left Over Space House, Paddington, Brisbane - 55 Kennedy Terrace, Paddington (Red Hill).
West End House - 60 Granville Street, West End; (showed its street context).
Camp Hill House - 15 Margaret Street, Camp Hill.
Terrarium House, Highgate Hill - 15 Hove Street, Highgate Hill.
Annerley House - 30 Emperor Street, Annerley.
Keperra House, Keperra - 56 Ryland Street, Keperra.
Granny Flat, Burleigh Heads - 20 Fourteenth Avenue, Palm Beach: there have been some changes since this project was first published. The ‘much loved’ original beach house ‘shack’ has gone to be replaced by the construction of a multi-storied building. It is a development that has been matched on the western neighbouring property, changing the Palm Beach context of the granny flat and its ‘story’ significantly.
Bath House, Hermit Park, Townsville - 34 Queen’s Road, Townsville
Auchenflower House - 56 Payne Street, Auchenflower.
Morningside Residence - 48 Tandoor Street, Morningside.
One Room Tower, West End - 41 Princhester Street, West End; (showed its street context).
Channel Street Studio, Cleveland - 79 Channel Street, Cleveland.
To fully appreciate and understand matters, one needs to know how this selection of specially chosen images fits into the streets, the suburbs, the towns, the cities, and the regions that they relate to rather than remain isolated as precious packaged sets to contemplate as sources for aspiration and inspiration where misconceptions can thrive.
To access these contextual images, paste the location details into Google Earth and go to Street View where available.
***
ARCHITECTURAL PHOTOGRAPHY
It is interesting to see that the Harry Seidler preference for the architectural image as a stylish, empty space with a careful arrangement of specific items forming a framed composition, an approach that became the norm, has now changed to one of stylish configurations of portions of a place that include a person, children playing, and or a dog, preferably blurred in an action shot, looking like a Futurist image that has been inserted into the photograph to add something suggestive about occupancy to the chosen vision. Ironically, the self-consciousness of this inclusion highlights the same sense of ‘otherness’ seen in the Seidler images in a different manner.
##
VERNACULAR
Including: builders; techniques; customs; training; processes; financing; costs; availability; tools; systems; the ‘norm;’ habits; materials; personal preferences; expectations; social issues; planning; developers; and more.
The problem seems to lie in architectural ambitions and intentions that classically seek outcomes where each project should demonstrate the potential to transform, (in this case), a limited footprint into something innovative and impactful – a requirement spelt out in the design competition advertised by Buildner: see – https://www.designboom.com/design/10-designboom-competitions-august-2025-entries-08-07-2025/.
Roger Scruton notes in his Green Philosophy How to think seriously about the planet, Atlantic Books, London, 2012, p.275-276:
There are great works of architecture and often, like the churches of Mansard and Borromini, they are the work of a single person. But most works of architecture are not great and should not aspire to be so, any more than ordinary people should lay claim to the privileges of genius when conversing with their neighbours. What matters in architecture is the emergence of a learnable vernacular style – a common language that enables buildings to stand side by side without offending each other.
^^^
NOTE
The published projects promote a concept that will drive dreams of possibilities across the world, even in Shetland. A local Lerwick architect once spoke to me about how he was inspired by Murcutt's work. Do books like this that appear to foster the vernacular or might like to create one, do more to destroy it than promote a truly native architecture anywhere? In Shetland, it is the Norwegian house that is being constructed everywhere. Might this situation be like the Shetland boat? – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2016/01/the-shetland-boat-history-folklore.html. The vernacular Shetland house – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/12/shetland-vernacular-buildings.html, remains ignored as a picturesque piece of history. This cottage was originally superseded by the Scottish croft house that has now become the heritage icon which has also become ignored with the desire and preference for the Norwegian dwelling that comes as a pre-cut package complete with windows and doors and can be erected and made wind-and-water-tight in two weeks. The picturesque, compact, Scottish, ‘bookend’ cottage now finds favour only as tourist trinkets and in promotional brochures, and is usually left to become a part of the scattered ruins that fill the hills. As for the vernacular cottage, there are only two left that are somewhat in tact; both are historical museums. There is nothing remaining of the vernacular house elsewhere except, at best, piles of stones; but even this is rare. The clearances removed settlements leaving landscapes that once held these clustered dwellings appearing as untouched hillsides for sheep to enjoy; the stones probably ended up in the dykes that stretch across the open hills. Even the grand houses end up as ruins and rubble- see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2014/04/lund-haunting-place-memory.html. In this case, one has to ask: Where did the rubble go? Was it used for the new Uyeasound pier project? There are certainly no stones left lying around the truncated walls. So much for heritage.
Shetland's history now remains just a tourist attraction, as heritage pieces do in the rest of the world. Even the beautiful 'naked hills' are just this too, as massive wind farms sprawl across the landscape in spite of the glossy promotions of natural beauty that never show one turbine. Profit is the core issue here, with both tourism and wind farms, and ‘never the twain shall meet’ until all is revealed to the eyes of the astonished visitor.
###
MATHEMATICS
The authors seem to struggle with figures.
The text speaks about the middle-ring Brisbane suburbs with houses that, p.233:
sit on 10 x 40m generous quarter-acre blocks. Alas, a 400m2 block is not a very generous quarter of an acre, even in Brisbane. Are the editors not good at mathematics either?
A quarter-acre block is 1012m2 - 1011.714m2 to be more precise. The traditional 40 perch, quarter-acre block is 66 feet by 165 feet; one chain by two and a half chains; or 100 links by 250 links, which is close to 20.1m X 50.25m, not 10 X 40m.
In another measure, a perch is 30.25 sq yards; 40 perches, which is the area of a quarter of an acre, (one acre being 160 perches), is the equivalent of 1210sq yards; 10 yards x 121 yards: a yard is 36 inches; a metre is 39.37 inches; one just cannot ever get close to a figure of 400 in any language.
400 m2 is approximately the 16 perch block that has an area of 404.69m2 which is a traditional small block subdivision that equates to an area of 4356 square feet which is 66feet x 66feet, or 33feet x 132 feet; that is 1 chain by 1 chain, or half a chain by 2 chains. The other common block was 32 perches, which is 1 chain x 2 chains; 66 feet x 132 feet; and area of 8712 square feet.
The old surveyors used a chain for measure, 66 feet long, with 100 links, using lengths defined in links, and areas in perches, not feet, yards, or metres, giving old subdivisions a beauty and elegance that the feet and yards disguise, and the metres deform.
The authors might be able to get away with casual exaggerations in emphatic phrases that use exotic words and concepts for hyperbole and put-downs just, so it seems, to sound elegantly academic; intellectually astute, observant aesthetes presenting a grand theory. In the supporting texts, words like those that describe the ‘Queenslander’ as prosaic and suburb-defining, p.203; floating indifferently above the ground, p.13; in unassuming suburban streets, p.69; with this austerity segued, p. 53, sit side by side with concepts that define the new with terms like materiality, p.201; moved seamlessly between conditions, p.15; a refined and gentle brutalism. p.95; enriched by diverse architectural episodes, p.61; and sloping topography, p.215. These expressions go unchallenged, unquestioned, with their authoritative, amorphous referencing, but mathematics has more rigour and necessity, and demands the careful attention that should be given to everything.
Here one recalls Coomaraswamy's words on traditional art that held that something could not be beautiful unless it conformed to the rules; that personal expression was merely a misguided muddle, like the 400m2 quarter-acre block. Mmm; food for thought.
****
On the ‘science’ of the single house and our unassuming suburbia see:
https://stories.theconversation.com/the-science-of-beautiful-buildings/
=
Here one thinks of The Bushman’s Farewell, a savage critique of Queensland: see – https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/20721634.
THE BUSHMAN'S FAREWELL.
(Supplied by "C.")
Queensland, thou art a land of pests,
For flies and fleas one never rests;
E'en now mosquitoes round me revel,
In fact they are the very devil;
Sandflies and hornets just as bad,
They nearly drive a fellow mad.
The scorpion and centipede,
With stinging ants of every breed,
Fever and ague, with the shakes,
Tarantulas and poisonous snakes;
Iguanas, lizards, cockatoos,
Bushrangers, lags, and jackaroos;
Bandicoots and swarms of rats,
Bulldog ants and native cats.
Stunted timber, thirsty plains,
Parched-up deserts, scanty rains.
There's rivers here you can't sail ships on,
There's nigger women without shifts on;
There's humpies, huts, and wooden houses,
And nigger men who won't wear trousers.
There's Bathurst burr, and speargrass too,
Ticks and Belyando spew.
There's Barcoo rot and sandy blight;
There's dingoes howling all the night.
There's curlews' wail and croaking frogs,
There's savage blacks and native dogs.
There's scentless flowers and stinging tree
There's poisonous grass and Darling peas
Which drive the cattle ramping mad,
Makes sheep and horses just as bad.
And then it never rains in reason.
There's drought one year, and floods next season,
Which sweep the squatters' sheep away,
And then there is the devil to pay.
To stay in thee, O land of mutton !
I would not give a single button,
But bid thee now a long farewell,
Thou scorching, sunburnt land of hell !
+++
As an example of our fascination with accents, see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2012/03/earthships-and-bananas.html where, without any embarrassment, the American guest is asked to repeat his way of saying ‘bananas,' as if he was a performing monkey.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.